


Long Haul

by TinaMuvorik



Category: Tintin (Comics), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Gay, Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Protectiveness, Sleep, Sleeping on shoulder, Sunsets, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 17:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18183854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinaMuvorik/pseuds/TinaMuvorik
Summary: Tintin falls asleep on the Captain's shoulder, which leaves Haddock to his thoughts on a long train ride back to Belgium.





	Long Haul

"A thousand, thundering typhoons!"

The sentence was more than hyperbole right now. The rattle of it shook its way into his very bones, and Haddock was grateful, yet surprised, that he seemed to remain somewhat stationary despite the train's violent shuddering.

"It's only turbulence," Tintin said, as he rested a placating hand on the Captain's arm.

He frowned. "On a train? I thought that was the speciality of those metal death machines."

"Planes?" Tintin suggested. He grinned at the Captain's melodrama.

He usually hated travel. When it came to traversing long-distances, he obviously preferred the sea; but he never seemed to be able to say no to Tintin. Besides, they were heading home, and there was nowhere he'd rather be.

The carriage they sat in was small, and, save from themselves, completely empty. They would usually have sat directly across from one another, leaving an acceptable distance between them while the captain pretended to read a newspaper, or exchanged pleasantries that veiled covert flirtations, but not today. Today, the rest of the train was peaceful, empty, and devoid of travellers.

Although it was pleasant to have Tintin beside him, fingers entwined with his, he couldn't help but keep one wary eye on the window to the corridor outside.

Milou sat opposite, curled up in the centre of the green seats like a patch of snow melting on a hillside. Without other passengers to limit the available space, there was no real excuse for Tintin to sit as close as he did, no excuse at all- and yet, the edges of his long coat spilled over to close the gap between them, and he grasped the Captain's arm to prevent him from shuffling along the bench furtively. It had been a long time since they last passed a station, but Haddock caught sight of his flustered reflection in the window as he cast it a glance. Flushed cheeks, wild hair.

"Just close the blinds if you're worried about it," Tintin said, sporting an amused smile at Haddock's worrying, "It's not so unusual; it will be evening soon."

Their age difference wasn't always so startling, but at times like these, it came into a stark, temporary contrast, like the fuse of a lightbulb bursting. Tintin was very much the product of a different time; graced with that certain confidence that came with youth. Even after all those years of (mis)adventures, he still managed to believe in the inherent goodness of people. He sometimes mistook his unwavering optimism for naivety, although, at heart, he knew it wasn't that.

Still, he refused to believe that Tintin could have remained totally oblivious to The Intolerance. Indeed, it was impossible that the young man hadn't ever faced any himself. Perhaps he was just more forgiving than most- and indeed, he'd forgiven Haddock his own mistakes often enough, so it must be the case.

He cast a glance at him, poised so delicately beside the window that he looked almost like a pastel drawing. The dusk made his hair glow an ever more violent orange, illuminated by the dying embers of the day. Cloudy grey eyes met the Captain's, and he smiled when he noticed him.

"Just admiring the view," Haddock said.

Tintin glanced behind him briefly, turning back to the Captain as if he had hardly noticed it, and gave him a small smile.

"I'd rather watch you, Captain," he smirked.

"Bah," Haddock waved him off.

Tintin's ease likely stemmed from the fact that their train was now speeding back towards Belgium. Indeed, it should have calmed The Captain, too, but he was far too hardened to believe an unspoken legal status truly afforded them any protection. Attitudes would always prevail above the law, and snide looks weren't the worst thing they could suffer. Although unmentioned was very much preferable to illegal, it only amplified Haddock's constant feeling that he had to hide himself to be acceptable.

He pushed the thoughts away, and preoccupied himself by tracing his thumb over Tintin's delicate fingers. He had slender hands, seemingly made to tap restlessly on a typewriter, yet they held still now for the captain.

"We're going home," Haddock sighed into the sentence as he spoke, unsure as to why he couldn't muster much enthusiasm. He supposed he couldn't quite believe it.

Tintin's grip tightened, surprisingly firm. He had sensed his unrest, and fixed his piercing blue gaze on Haddock. He could get lost in those eyes, and perhaps he would have, had it not been for a slight bump from the corridor outside.

The captain tore away, eyes roving to the carriage door; and all the better too, for a shock of white hair had appeared outside, a weathered face peering in. His heavy eyebrows raised, in recognition of the passengers within, and he slid the door open with a stiff, drawn-out squeak.

"These old doors..." The man muttered, mostly to himself. He wore a dark blue conductor's uniform, and had a ticket machine slung over his shoulder on a long strap.

Haddock dropped Tintin's hand instantly, fumbling for tickets and papers as a wordless excuse. Tintin did the same, smiling cooly as he murmured "Good evening," to the inspector.

"Anything to declare?" The conductor asked, as he flicked his gaze over the papers lazily.

"No," Tintin said, with a polite smile, taking the papers back from the man and stashing them in his coat pockets.

Haddock shook his head. As much as he would like to, he wasn't carrying any alcohol in his suitcase.

"Have good journey, gentlemen," the conductor gave them a knowing smile as he left the carriage, and Haddock watched him leave, his mind turning over the residual panic that he'd outed himself somehow.

"It's fine," Tintin was gazing at him fondly, but his eyebrows furrowed slightly as concern mingled his expression.

"Hmm," Haddock grunted. "He seemed too cheerful for my liking."

"What's wrong with cheerful?" Tintin said.

"Nosy, no good, bumbling..." Haddock mumbled slightly. Their most recent adventure had made him more than a little paranoid. "Your exploits are starting to get you noticed," he continued, as he lit up a pipe. "And not as a reporter- as an unwanted nuisance!"

"Captain, in my experience, reporters are always an unwanted nuisance. It's how we know we're doing our job correctly."

The journey continued in a similar manner, hands pressing against each other, stealing touches of arms, hands, and, on occasion, lips. As Tintin had predicted, they remained largely uninterrupted, aside from those times when footsteps passed by the door outside. None of it was the result of malicious prying, though, and the Captain was surprised to find himself relaxing slightly. Tintin put him at ease, plying him with sweet words and kind eyes, and it wasn't long before tiredness crept over them both.

The world outside became steadily darker as night began to press against the carriage, and, although he tried his best to act energised, Haddock could tell that Tintin was bluffing. He got a little quieter, a little more still, and laid his head on Haddock's shoulder. He had probably only intended to linger there for a moment, but his chest was soon driven by the gentle rise and fall of soft breathing.

This left him curiously alone with his thoughts. It had been many years since he'd last done it sober, and he was beginning to remember why.

If ever the young reporter had any flaws, it laid in his eagerness to be overly trusting, a skill he seemed to demonstrate with infuriating regularity. An apparent desperation to see the good in everyone could only lead to ruin when faced with homophobes and crooks, and Haddock was determined to defend against both vigilantly, and with much prejudice. But he wasn't infallible, and a tarnished reputation takes a lot longer to heal than any physical wound.

Despite, or perhaps due to the nature of Tintin's job, Haddock couldn't bring himself to trust the allegedly sympathetic parties within the press. They were surely never more than a heartbeat away from someone slipping an interesting story to their chief editor. No matter how many times he received assurance to the contrary, Haddock couldn't help but wonder how many people knew of the arrangement at Marlinspike. Still, the news of two older bachelors dwelling with a handsome young reporter should undoubtedly have made more tongues wag by now, so whatever clout Tintin had was clearly working in his favour.

  Although Tintin had made a great many friends over the years, he had also made some powerful enemies. Should they find out about the illicit romance, they would undoubtedly use it against them. Even if they weren't seeking to blackmail Tintin, there was always the possibility that they might seek revenge.

  Beside that, Haddock had his own enemies.

  Still, he managed to push the thoughts aside. They would be back at Marlinspike very soon, and he couldn't wait to kiss him.


End file.
